Slutty Pool Party Barbie

A few weeks ago, I went to The Grace Hotel on 45th Street for one of Guy Social’s pool parties.

It was still freezing outside, but indoors the pool was heated, and I was itching to pretend it was summer. Hidden beneath my jeans was a Nathan Ayon Pink Tease swimsuit. I call it my Slutty Barbie speedo, since the front is hot pink and the back is mesh.

Nathan’s a friend of mine, and was already there at a pop-up booth next to the pool, selling his newest collection. Ever-confident, he sported a neon green thong that left little to the imagination. I guess my mesh-backed speedo didn’t leave much to the imagination, either.

I got in the pool for a while, before it got too busy, then did my best slow-motion Baywatch walk out of the water. When I subtly glanced behind me, I saw that nobody was staring at my essentially bare ass—not even a glance in my direction. Wondering if I’d lost my touch, I got two gin and sodas and brought one to Nathan.

An hour or so later, J—the boy I’ve previously mentioned I’m exclusively sleeping with—showed up. J is, undoubtedly, the most attractive boy I’ve been with, a little shorter than me with effortless abs and toned arms, deep blue eyes and a bright, slightly gap-toothed smile. His sandy blond hair was messy—he works overnights, and probably just woke up. I still thought he was the most gorgeous boy there.

Wanting to show off, I insisted he try on one of Nathan’s new swimsuits, and when it fit him perfectly, I bought it. J has the kind of body I wish I had: broad chest, small waist and a big ass. He looked so good I couldn’t believe it.

Neither could anybody else. Everywhere we went, boys were staring. At first I felt a little offended—had I really already passed the point of being the one people’s gaze lingered on? You could see my asscrack for God’s sake; what does a gay have to do for a little male attention?

But then I realized the guy everyone was staring at was mine—and that he was only staring at me. He didn’t care if I was Slutty Barbie or dirty-sweat clothes Barbie. (I’m kind of a dump truck when I’m home alone.) He liked me for me.

And when he left, he left with me. It felt so weird putting on winter coats after a pool party, then walking out into the harsh, cold air. I wrapped my arm around him and held tight. “Thanks for the bathing suit,” he said quietly, smiling that gap-toothed smile. Slutty Barbie and 5’6” Ken, walking through the city. I wasn’t wearing any underwear—I forgot to bring any, and I wasn’t going to wear a wet bathing suit home—but once we got back to the apartment, all of our clothes came off anyway.